


dreams are sweet until they're not

by thesarcasticone



Series: all i've ever known [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 21:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesarcasticone/pseuds/thesarcasticone
Summary: The realm finds out about the Evenstar's heir and her recent victory. The council is not amused.Or: Jaime sails to Tarth, Brienne's last letter still present in his mind.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: all i've ever known [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511672
Comments: 27
Kudos: 142





	dreams are sweet until they're not

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this. Honestly, you are all amazing and deserve kudos of your own. 
> 
> Next part, taking place days after the last one. 
> 
> Here you have the reason there was no reply from Jaime following Brienne's final letter. 
> 
> Title from Flowers from Hadestown.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own.

Ten days had already gone by. Ten full days and still, Brienne would not talk to or see anyone. Not even her father had been granted permission to approach her. Septa Roelle had strictly received orders to not bother the Lady of Tarth, until the young maid gave her leave, and thus had composed herself to following Brienne around at a respectable distance, waiting for the opportune moment when her pupil would admit her counsel. 

It had been the least Selwyn had been able to offer his daughter. Her bright, blue eyes so determined, brave, and evidently  _ hurt _ ; the Evenstar had only given a deep sigh as he had diligently obliged to his daughter’s wishes. It had pained them both, but after having to suffer through a third broken betrothal and a third humiliation, a silent agreement between them had befallen. Brienne would not marry unless satisfied with her suitor, and Selwyn would not try and push for a fourth betrothal, at the risk of his family’s line ending with her. 

Brienne hit the straw dummy which had become her sparring companion for the evening with impressive resolve; her strength now equal to that of any young knight, her height and frame taller and broader, her feet quicker and sturdier than they had ever been. She grunted, a full and rich sound coming from her mouth as if she had been just another misfortunate young Knight, trying to get through a brutal training session. 

But she wasn’t.

At six and ten, Brienne had not grown into the soft and delicate maid her Septa had hoped she would eventually become. She had grown into an awkward maiden, with features still as grotesque and mannish as they had been when she was still a child. Her body had only grown stronger and sturdier with each passing day. It still continued to do so. 

The Lady of Tarth hit the dummy again, her longsword swiftly cutting through the ragged fabric and straw. She shouldn’t have been using such an elegant and  _ good _ sword to train against such frail surfaces, Ser Goodwin had taught her better than to waste precious steel on unworthy opponents. But as Brienne had descended the stairs of Evenfall’s back garden and had taken the old armory in, the memories had come unbidden to the front of her mind. Memories of a thrown rose, a boisterous laugh, and a golden knight. 

She would not marry, but she could very well still fight. 

Brienne had found herself desperately longing to become that which only Ser Jaime Lannister had ever trusted her enough to be able to achieve. She would never be able to become good enough to be considered a Knight if she stuck to training with poorly forged and treacherously balanced tourney blades. 

So for ten days Brienne had been diligently wielding her longsword, its glistening sapphires and rubies making her an easy spot for anyone cruising through Evenfall’s grounds. She found herself not minding. Let the entire world know the Lady of Tarth preferred breeches to dresses, swords to dances, bows to curtseys. She had hidden for too long, had tried to be something she wasn’t for far  _ -a cut- _ too  _ -another blow- _ long. 

Ten days had gone by since the old man had groveled and had pleaded for mercy at her feet. Ten days since Brienne had angered and had felt her skin boil with intense exasperation. Ten days since she had first experienced the thrilling and intoxicating dance of sword fighting in real combat. Ten days and she still trembled from the exhilaration of having had the opportunity to wield her sword in front of her father, her Septa and half of Evenfall Hall. 

Ten days and she still couldn’t get rid of the disconcerning sensation of having been offered to such an abhorrent man; at having been presented with what her life would most likely become if she ever got proposed another marriage arrangement.

The Maid of Tarth she had started hearing herself being called. A title which was meant to both honor as well as insult. The Maid of Tarth. Ungainly, unfeminine, unfitted for marriage. 

Brienne hit the straw dummy again, immersing herself in the feeling of the cold steel in her hands and the soft wisp of air which hit her face with each passing blow. The sensations calmed her unsettled mind better than any soft or kind words people could offer her. 

She grunted. She panted. She rearranged her footwork. She did it again, and again, and  _ again _ . 

Every hit she gave the imobile contraption became a hazard in her life, one which she wished she could have been able to skillfully run her sword through and  _ end _ . 

One blow, and it took the form of her first betrothal, a boy she had barely known and had died far too young.

Two blows, and it became Ron Connington and his insulting rose. 

Three blows and it became Septa Roelle, hissing at her to stop fidgeting. 

Four and it became King Robert, mocking her appearance in front of the entire court. 

Five and it became Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, with his sneering commands and demanding promises of chastising her until she became a proper woman. 

She hit the dummy one final time, before the straw and fimble form fell from its post to the ground. As the contraption fell, so did Brienne’s frame, with her knees giving out first, followed by her arms; her precious longswords landing beside her, a blunt thump which only made Brienne give out a sob in irritation. 

She had failed. Over and over again. It didn’t matter that she had beaten the man in single combat, or that she proficiently got better and better at wielding her trusted weapon with each passing day. It didn’t matter that she grew stronger, quicker, defter. She had lost everything she had ever been born to accomplish. She had failed her father, her mother, Galladon. She had failed at being the only heir to Tarth. 

It didn’t matter how many dummies she dismounted. The results would always be the same. 

Too mannish to become a wife. Too feminine to become a Knight. 

\----------

The lie had slipped easily enough to his sister, to the King, even to Tyrion who would usually be the first one to call him out on said attempts. Jaime had once tried lying to his brother -it hadn’t worked favorably for either. 

An envoy to the King had been called for, one who was to be sent to Tarth to reason with Lord Selwyn and make the Evenstar agree to swiftly send his daughter to court. Word had arrived in the capital of the famed Lady of Tarth and her third fallen betrothal, this time by her own hand as she had dared to challenge her betrothed in single combat. The girl had won the bout and the realm had succumbed to the whispered rumors of the warrior maiden and her legendary-type strength. 

The news had arrived at court just mere hours after Jaime had received the personal raven written by the Lady’s own hand informing him of such misfortune. His heart had strangely ached as he had read the troubled words. The Lady was as fierce as any man, shy as any maid, and clearly stubborn past the point of reason. Jaime was good at reading people’s character, had been for most of his life, one of the many traits which had helped him become the great swordsman he was. 

He might had not conversed much with the Lady, but her written words told him more than her spoken ones ever did. And her eyes, one only had to quickly glance at the Lady’s eyes to know there was a fierceness in her not easily destroyed. 

The master of laws, Lord Renly Baratheon had been appointed to travel the lands to escort the young Lady either to the capital, or to Storm’s End, where she was to remain under careful supervision until a marriage could be arranged and consummated. The Kingdom did not need a rebel Maiden beating up random Knights across the land. 

Jaime had cringed at the description being given, but had hastily volunteered for the travel. No one had questioned him, yet nevertheless he had gifted the council and his sweet sister with an excuse he hoped would suffice to not alienate him from their favor. 

His ministrations saved Jaime from receiving another slap from his Queen, but did not grant him the opportunity to personally see her before his ship set sail for the island. 

Jaime was made to wonder if he would ever be able to simply  _ do _ or decide something for himself without having to worry about whatever it was his sister would think of it, or how she would react. 

He loved her -unconditionally, had done so for his entire life. Was it so wrong to ask for the same kind of affection to be freely given to him as well? How could he sometimes feel as if he wanted his sister so much it  _ hurt _ to think of them as estranged, yet at the same time there was a part of him who wished he would never have to be near her intoxicating presence again? 

Jaime shook the thoughts from his head. His mind was a dangerous place to wander through when it became idle for too long, had always been so. 

This time, when Jaime descended the steps of their ship, he didn’t bother with ignoring the red headed man, but offered him a curt nod with a knowing and almost pleased glance. The man was still a fool, but Jaime appreciated the clarity of him, the innocence.

Tarth was beautiful, had always been, but Jaime had never truly taken the time to see and appreciate the island as more than a stepping stone towards getting back home to his sister and her cruel and gentle ways. This time Tarth was not part of the road, but a destination in itself. Jaime made a silent promise to find the time to acknowledge the full splendor of the island. 

Lord Selwyn seemed to have aged ten years since the last time Jaime had set eyes on the man, the weight of his daughter’s latest mishap clearly having burdened the man with more than he had ever thought he would one day have to endure. 

“She will not be pleased with his Grace's request, and I am afraid I can no longer subdue my daughter into following anyone’s orders but her own. She has grown to be as fierce as her late mother, with all my stubbornness added in for good measure. She is as kind as any goodness in this world, but as ruthless and sharp as any blade when angered enough.”

Jaime could not help the half smirk which formed on his lips upon hearing the Lord’s description of his daughter. Selwyn spoke with a fond smile gracing his lips, yet with crystal blue eyes -so alike his daughter’s- which harbored a measured sadness.

“My brother is adamant in her gracing the capital and the Red Keep, but there is also the possibility of her traveling to Storm’s End. She would be a welcomed guest at my family’s home and would be carefully guarded and protected, as well as be left to do as she pleased, so long as she does not go on challenging and battling Knights or Lords.”

Jaime could tell by the forlorn look in Lord Selwyn’s calm and assertive blue eyes, it was not an option the Lady would take lightly. She was being offered the opportunity to choose between prissions, and all for what? For finally having encountered the courage to step up and fight for what Jaime knew was something the Lady had wanted. His own words came back to haunt him as he continued to watch the proceedings. 

_ ‘If the world accepts fate as justice, insults as flattery and the humiliation of the weak as honor; then who are we to dictate a woman can’t wield a proper sword?’ _

Lord Selwyn informed the traveling court of Lady Brienne’s predicament, and of her being granted the gift of isolation until she deemed herself capable of handling the world’s judgement. All Jaime heard was the fact the Lady had decided to try and hide herself from her household staff and her hovering Septa. Some tricks and customs were hard to overgrow. 

Which was why he found her exactly where he had presumed her to be. 

He remembered the steps and trails which led from the main castle grounds to the armoury at Evenfall Hall and proudly strolled through them without once stopping to provide any explanation to where he was headed. 

The training ground circling the weaponry was almost deserted except for one lingering figure, fiercely beating a straw dummy with a stunning blade which the closer Jaime got, he could tell it glistened with the distinctive shine from adorning rubies and sapphires. 

She had grown, was the first thought which ran through his mind upon being able to fully appreciate her entire form. The second was the fact she was currently donning breeches and a loose tunic, both tinted in different shades of blue with her house’s sigil awkwardly sewn on them. His third thought related to her apparent strength. 

_ She may even be as strong as I am.  _ She was definitely as tall as he was. 

She grunted with force, and she danced with a grace he had never witnessed her possessing before. She was quick for her build, strong for her sex, tall for her age and every bit the warrior maiden the whispers and rumors were painting her out to be. 

As fierce as any young knight, as delicate as any young maiden.  _ You are more than singular, Brienne; you are fascinating.  _

The dummy got ripped from its pole, straw falling around the maid as her own blade fell to the ground, followed by a choked sob and the crumbling of her own body. Jaime considered leaving, if only to allow the girl some respite after the adrenaline of training and the sudden burst of anguish she seemed to have been engulfed by. He willed his body to wait a minute, then another, before tentatively approaching the Lady; his eyes never leaving her frame, his mind acutely aware of every twitch and movement she gave. 

_ Stop your tears, my Lady; the old cunt isn’t worth any of them.  _

“Your father has informed us that we are not to bother you until you give us leave to approach you. But I've just seen you try and kill straw with decent steel. I am sorry, but if you want to weild your blade, it must be against something -or someone, worthy of its edge and of your talent.”

Brinne hiccuped as she heard the voice, a rich and almost mocking tone which more than irritate her, made her curious as to why if the man knew she wasn’t to be bothered had dared to tempt her so.

She had not expected Ser Jaime Lannister to have been the owner of such a voice. 

She remembered the Knight well enough, his letters having allowed Brienne to not forget his teasing words or calm assertions. She could describe Ser Jaime’s character and form well enough to anyone who asked, yet she had trouble remembering anything else of him; from his smell, to his touch, to his voice. 

He looked every bit the golden Warrior from her limited memory. She reddened as she thought of her own appearance; her hair all mussed up, her clothes ragged from over-use, her body -her body now as large and tall as his, both standing at the same height. 

_ I am a maid of six and ten, and he is an anointed Knight yet we stand as if we were equals. _

He was even more handsome than she remembered. 

She was even more homely than he remembered. 

The golden Knight for her childish fantasies, the fair and honorable man from her girlish dreams. 

A warrior maid if he had ever seen one. Proud and tall, shy and embarrassed.

He continued to firmly stare, his green eyes both calm and inviting, as if he were waiting for an answer  _ -her _ answer. 

Brienne felt words escape her, felt her blood boil with something akin to anger but which felt completely different. She tightened the grip on her blade as she took notice of his hands reaching to gracefully unseath his own. 

“I hadn’t known you’d be visiting the island again, Ser.”

“ _ Ser _ ?" He gave an almost wry chuckle. "Well,  _ my Lady _ ; it appears having isolated yourself from the entire staff does mean you are kept in the dark about certain things. Come on, lift up your sword.”

What?

“Ser?”

“Again with the formalities, aren’t we friends, my Lady?”

Brienne scrunched her face with confusion, yet obeyed his command as she took notice of his own raised weapon. Sniffing away the last of her muddled tears.

It was instinct which drove Brienne to parry the blow with a quick move of her own blade; steel clashing in mid air, sparks flying as they retreated and then crashed swords again, and again. 

They moved with swiftness and with diligence, both their minds succumbing to the thrill and rush of a well known dance. It wasn’t until Jaime took to raising his voice, when Brienne’s mind got snapped back into the reality around them. 

She was sparring with Ser Jaime Lannister  _ -the _ Jaime Lannister. 

“I always knew you would be good. Never thought you would be  _ this _ good.”

She stumbled as her mind came to realize the incredulousness of the situation. She was sparring against a seasoned Knight, a  _ Kingsguard _ who had unexpectedly arrived on her island right after she had suffered one of her greatest triumphs  _ and _ humiliations; right after she had sent him a less than adequate letter. She could feel her face  _ burn _ as the contents of her last missive suddenly came back to her.

“How come I wasn’t made aware of your arrival?” She managed to grunt out as they both retreated and turned to circle each other, both panting for air. She needed to distract her own spirling brain, to maintain their conversation away from her distressed and wine-influenced words. 

“Short notice. Come my Lady, this dance is not yet finished.”

She grunted as he taunted her to strike. She did. He swiftly counterattacked. 

Their swords met countless of times; his footwork light and quick, hers delicate and swift. Their strength was evenly matched and more than once, Jaime felt his green eyes widen in appreciation as he came to the realization he was actually getting tired and had to vigorously parry each of her thrown blows. She was not just good -she was fearless. 

“ _ Why _ are you here, Ser?” She tried again. 

Jaime was getting tired of her formal address, but as she managed to catch him off guard in the second he took to thinking about her propriety, Jaime decided to postpone his reasoning for when their bout was over. 

“You owe me something, I’ve come to collect.”

She didn’t owe him anything, but it was a good enough reason to distract her from her inquisitions for a short while. 

Brinne moved and twirled as she vehemently tried to disarm the Knight, having quickly forgotten in the midst of the exhilaration and entrancing fight the fact he was older and far more experienced than she was. Brienne fought to win, it didn’t matter who her opponent was; a straw dummy, an old pompous Knight, or the Warrior in human form. Brienne delivered her blows with equal ardor and intensity. 

She had the passion, she had the strength, she even had the technique, but she was still only six and ten and running hot on anger and bewilderment. Jaime disarmed her with a triumphant half smirk, and gleaming amazed eyes. 

Brienne huffed, her breathing coming in fast pants as she tried to steady her racing heart and exhausted lungs. 

She turned to look at her opponent, noting how he hunched over, resting both hands over his knees as he tried to regulate his own labored breathing. They held similar stances, except Jaime did not harbor a frown on his face the way she did.

“You would have been a fool to have accepted Wagstaff’s offer. If your father doesn’t see it, just know I do. That was impressively fought, Lady Brienne.”

This time the blush held no anger or shame, but genuine embarrassment at being called out by  _ him _ of all people. His tone softer than it had previously been, his breathing still labored from their fight. 

He didn’t lie. 

“I-I-” She began, but the words got jumbled inside her brain as she tried to give a coherent reply. She wasn’t used to receiving praise, not from a sparring partner. As Brienne stood up straight, with her heart returning to a more adequate rhythm, all she found herself to be able to think on was her last written letter and the dizzying state she had composed and sent it in. 

Instead of gratitude, she voiced her spruge of newly found embarrassment. “I regret having burdened you with my last letter, Ser; it was not a wise decision to have written in the state my mind found itself in. They were foolish words, from a foolish girl.”

Jaime intently witnessed how her face and emotions morphed as her mind processed the information and current situation; how she had gone from feeling pleasantly embarrassed from being complimented, to sullen and shamed when having remembered their last exchange. “You keep calling yourself foolish yet it seems to me you are the only one on this bloody island to have a little bit of sense.” 

Brienne scrunched her face again, blue eyes exuding her confusion with such a clarity Jaime found himself cursing. 

_ Two years Brienne, and yet you still haven’t learned; nothing good will ever come of displaying your emotions on your eyes.  _

“You were hurt, Brienne;  _ are _ hurt.” He took the liberty to call out, not caring if the statement was considered bold or inappropriate. Their relationship was one built on clarity and sincerity. He hadn't traveled all the way out to Tarth to hide behind white lies and dreary protocol. He had come to see a friend. 

The familiarity was not lost on Brienne. But how could she dare call him out on it, if she currently had his letters stashed away in her chambers, safely hidden from her chambermaids and from her Septa? If he had been the one person her mind had decided to write to, when her anger and hurt had been so tangible, she had to have been dulled with dreamwine so she could find rest?

Ser Jaime Lannister had become a trusted friend, as odd as the premise was. 

“There is nothing else left to be done. Ser Humfrey Wagstaff left the island three days ago, cursing my family’s name and my eccentric ways as he boarded his ship. My father has conceded to not attempt to try and find a fourth betrothal, because of- well, everything that happened.”

It irked Jaime to have felt relief upon confirmation of her predicament. He shouldn’t have; she was an heir to a title, a woman whose only purpose in life should have been to have gotten married and produced countless of babes to satisfy the needs of men and their politics. The fact she was most likely not going to be able to fulfill such tasks only painted her in low favor among Westerosi society. When the feature of having acquired a more than disfavorable reputation was added to her current situation, it only served to worsen whichever prospects the Lady might have had left of being able to spend the rest of her days in blissful liberty and ignorance. 

Brienne couldn’t bring herself to lock eyes with him after her previous statement, her blue orbs fixed on her still unsheathed sword; using the stolen seconds to gently admire the glistening of the blade, the shine of its jewels. It was a magnificent sword, and it was still  _ hers _ .

Jaime took notice. 

“Not many are gifted with the ability to swiftly carry out the intricate dance of steel; to feel the singing of the blade in their veins; to feel the sword, not as a tool, but as an extension of one’s arm.” Jaime fished, his own sword still out in his hand, the point of it sticking out to the sky as he took a second to appreciate its craftsmanship. It was a decent blade, one worthy of a Kingsgaurd; but it looked meek compared to what he had commissioned to have been made for the Lady. “I can tell you’ve been gifted with such ability, my Lady. I can see you are aware of such fact as well.”

She understood every word he uttered with such veracity and authenticity, Brienne gave an involuntary shiver. The clang of metal against metal had made Brienne feel alive as nothing else had ever managed to do. The childish dream of getting to become a Knight made its way to the front of her mind every time she wielded her blade, every time she struck down a sparring partner or dismantled a dummy. Her blood had sung as she had finally faced off against a real opponent, and had again risen with a melodious tone as she had sparred with Ser Jaime.

Ser Jaime, who was supposed to be in King’s Landing, not on Tarth. 

She finally raised her head to meet his eyes, green and as striking as ever. She felt herself blush under such a gaze, one filled not with contempt or disdain, but something close to fondness and genuine interest. 

“I see you’re finally returning to us, Lady Brienne, from wherever it was your brain had decided to take you this morning.”

“Is there a specific reason for why you’re here, Ser Jaime; on Tarth? Is my father in any kind of trouble? Or perhaps I am?”

Damn her. Damn her and her over-trusting eyes which Jaime found himself getting enthralled by and encouraged into telling her the truth. 

“I am afraid that crown business has been the reason for the visit. But I must also inform you, my Lady, it was by my own will and desire that I personally have come.”

Brienne took a step back, sheathing her sword back on her hip, noting how he followed to mimic her actions. 

“Ser, I beseech you to not mock-”

“I have never mocked you, Brienne, and will not be starting now. The King and his council have heard about your failed betrothal, even more so, about how you have personally put an end to it. The King has petitioned for you to be sent to court-”

“I will not!”

Stubborn cow. Jaime withheld a grin for he knew the maid would not appreciate the gesture, but couldn’t help but find her unyielding stance amusing. 

“No, we’ve all thought as much. The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands has offered Storm’s End as a second option.”

They wanted to  _ imprison _ her. The shame, anger, the -the insult it was. The  _ defeat _ Brienne felt once more upon receiving such ill-news. 

A wife, that was all everyone had always wanted her to become and it was the one thing she could not see herself ever becoming. Her ugliness was well heard off, and now her prowess would keep even the most dreadry of suitors and potential matches away. She had doomed Tarth and her own life, all because she refused to be set aside and ignored. She was Brienne of Tarth, tall, homely, broad of back and flat of chest, with more freckles than anyone could count and with a passion and ability for wielding weapons even the most well-trained Knights on the island wished to possess. 

“All I wanted was to bring honor to my family, to do something righteous so my father could be proud of the one child the gods have allowed him to keep.”

Jaime listened, not daring to even blink as Brienne uttered the contents of her letter to him, her voice small and forlorn as she spoke of her inward battles. Her feelings of failure and relief, blatantly displayed and battling for dominance inside her eyes as she softly spoke about them and about her first ever triumph. He recognized such duality and trumult as one he would occasionally present when pondering on his own life and what it had come to. Jaime longed for the skill to efficiently comfort his friend.

“Ser, I appreciate your honesty. You’ve been a good friend.” Brienne finished, daring a quick glance over Jaime’s steady frame beside her. 

“As have you, my lady.” He hoped she could read the honesty behind his words. 

The blush she gave him made her appearance as dichotomous as her character. Proud and ashamed, sure and shy. 

“I’ve been selfish.” She sniffed, and Jaime realized tears had started falling from the maid’s eyes once again; soft tears which gathered in her blue eyes, making her blue irises sparkle and appear even more alike the sapphires her island was named after. 

“We are all selfish, it’s why men go to war and why they fight for love. We all think we deserve what we want. Not many of us do.” He certainly didn’t. Unbidden his thoughts went to his children, all golden, all his, and all Baratheons in nothing but name. “You’re probably the least selfish person I’ve ever met.” 

Brienne scoffed, a thought escaping her lips without her full consent. “I wanted to be pretty.”

It was a confession, her most selfish thought and wish, being delivered with such a saddened yearning, it stung to bear witness to it. 

In consequence and without proper restraint of his own, Jaime found himself blurting his own admission, “I wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne.”

His own strained voice got her attention. Brienne gave out a loud sniff, trying to stop her continuous flow of silent tears. 

“Why would  _ you _ wish to be another?”

She couldn’t comprehend it. He had been born a Lannister of Casterly Rock, one of the richest families in Westeros; with the world at his feet and blessed with a handsome face even when he had been young -if such rumors were to be believed. 

_ So many reasons, Brienne. _

“Why would  _ you _ ?” He retaliated. 

“I pleaded for you to not mock.”

“I am not, my question is sincere. You are the Lady of Tarth, it is your birthright. You possess more talent in that arm of yours than all of the squires and young Knights I’ve ever had the fortune to train with put together. You have been blessed with a caring father and a comfortable home, and probably the prettiest of eyes in the entire realm.”

He shouldn’t have voiced that.  _ Why _ had he said that? 

Brienne’s eyes widened, her heart fluttered, her stomach churned and her face flushed a deep crimson color; a blush which she was sure extended over her entire frame. 

Jaime cleared his throat as he gathered and managed his scattered mind. “I stand by my earlier admission, my Lady. You made the wisest of decisions by not accepting that old bat as your husband. Regardless of what the rest of realm thinks.”

His smirk made Brienne’s heart flutter once again. She needed to move, to calm the sudden burst of fluttering butterflies which were making her head feel dizzy. 

“Yet I am being sent to be imprisoned in a castle.” She voiced as she tuned to make her way towards the armoury, where her sword was usually kept well under lock and key. She felt him following behind her. 

“No one is forcing you anywhere, not yet. The King’s envoy is here to present the current state of affairs and the current means the council has proposed to better them. You’ll be glad to know your Lord father is almost as stubborn as you are, and was resolute in his defense of your autonomy. He told the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands as much.” Jaime contributed, walking alongside her, devilish smirk on his face. 

Lord Renly? Brienne hadn’t seen the young Lord ever since he had graced Evenfall with his visit during his coming out tour. 

The handsome young Lord had been courteous towards Brienne on that fateful day when Ser Jaime had surprisingly asked her for a dance. Not wanting to be outshined by the older Knight, the younger Lord had proceeded to ask her for her next dance. His actions had stunned Brienne into silence and had earned the young Lady the virtue of getting to twirl around the floor for at least one more song. The dance had gone by swifter than the one she had shared with Ser Jaime, but the conversation had not been able to flow as effortlessly, as the young Lord had only been able to tolerate her talk of swords and jousts for so long. Still, he had smiled prettily and had proceeded to kiss Brienne’s hand at the end of their encounter. Unlike when Ser Jaime had performed such feats, with Lord Renly Brienne’s stomach had not flipped, her heart had not raced and her skin had felt as cool as the air around her. 

“He’s King Robert’s new Master of Laws, my Lady.” Jaime supplied, taking note of the puzzlement clearly displayed in her eyes. “I could see the question written in your eyes. Has anyone ever mentioned, you wear your emotions out in them?”

Another thing he shouldn’t have said, but the ease with which their conversation flowed was appealing and - serene. She was not one to rave or rant, but her words held meaning and honesty, his were mostly rambles and gentle teases, but were honest and carefree. 

“Yes, my father once mentioned it to Septa Roelle when he thought I wasn’t hearing.” She answered, surprising even herself as she admitted to the heinous act of eavesdropping. 

Jaime’s smile came without restraint, the small but honest gesture making Brienne give a soft smile of her own, her cheeks still stained from her previously fallen tears. 

“If my father is aware of the King’s request and has proceeded to advocate in my favor, does this mean I won’t be sent away to Storm’s End or anyplace else?” Her question was honest and delivered with a soft sniff which Jaime pretended to not hear as she placed her blade in its proper holding spot. 

“It means, our stay on Tarth will be longer than originally planned. You have caused quite the commotion my Lady. And no, that was not an insult, it was well earned praise.” Her blush was blotched and in no way should have Jaime found it endearing, yet he oddly found himself finding it so. 

“I find it hard to encounter such a feat in your words, Ser. But I trust you.”

Trust. Given freely, without promises or conditions. 

“Trust your sword and your instinct, my Lady. You apparently have got a good one. It will come in handy when we train.”

“Train?” He couldn’t possibly have meant what she suddenly found herself desperately wishing for. 

“A blade such as that should not be wasted on straw dummies. Your form is outstanding, remind me to praise your master at arms for it, but there is still much you can and  _ have _ to learn. It would be my honor, Lady Brienne, if you would allow me to train with you while I am being forced to stay here on Tarth, while Lord Renly tries and more likely fails to negotiate with your Lord Father. How else are you ever going to become good enough to become a Knight worthy of your own song?”

Validation, without mockery or weariness. 

Green eyes shone with wonderment and endearment. Blue eyes shone with the beginnings of a pure and unadulterated love. 

**Author's Note:**

> I will be an avid: 'it's my AU' card user from now on.


End file.
